The Primrose Jones Adventure
by whatnosheep
Summary: Its Vegas week, and Sam's gone off hugging trees. Nothing can go wrong...can it? This is my first ever fanfiction, based on a D'n'D adventure I wrote. Unbeta'ed, so please be gentle with me. Constructive Criticism welcome!
1. Chapter 1

The Primrose Jones Adventure.

Chapter 1: Boobs, beer and burgers.

The light from the strip shone through, passed the less than adequate curtains. The bed nearest the door was occupied by a tall, brown haired young man. Sleeping on his side, with one arm stuffed underneath the rather small pillow. As the light shifted over his face, a grumble was heard. He tried to move, but a moan of pain echoed round the room. He tried to open his eyes slightly, but they were clamped shut with vigour after only making it to the tiniest of slits.

Dean was not a happy morning bunny. Especially with the hangover that he was currently suffering. A headache that undoubtedly would lead to re-enactment of 'that' scene from Scanners. Nausea and dizziness that would probably lead to the rather undignified rush to the bathroom very soon. And a mouth that felt like it could rival the best grade sandpaper. Definitely not a happy bunny.

Chancing a quick glance to other bed in the room, Dean was suddenly grateful that Sam was not there to witness his downfall. A small smirk appeared on his face, it had been a good night (and morning to be honest). It was Vegas week, a week dedicated to boobs, beer and burgers. And Dean was pretty sure that he ticked all three boxes (and more) last night, well what he could remember of it. Dean frowned, trying to remember the name of a certain lovely lady he spent quite a lot money and time with (once her shift had finished). Maybe it was best he couldn't remember.

What he could remember though, was the argument with Sam once he decided that a week camping would be a better way to spend a week off. Dean couldn't (and wouldn't on principle) understand why hugging wildlife and all that hippy crap, was better than Vegas week. Sam had left, not exactly in a huff but quite close, shouting he would leave his mobile on (if there was a signal).

Suddenly, as predicted, Dean found himself running across the room to the smallest bathroom that could possibly be functional. With one hand over his mouth, trying to keep the impending explosion from happening in the bedroom, Dean had to manoeuvre between the bathroom door and sink to access the john. Kneeling down, he let it happen. Again, again and again. By the end he was dry retching, head resting on the seat and a small sliver of bile snaking down from his mouth.

Slowly recovering, Dean lifted his head and looked around the room. He had to admit that yesterday he hadn't taken that much notice of the room (something to do with the 3 B's), dump the bags and ward the room and getting out on the town asap was his goal yesterday. And now he was becoming rather concerned. There were sheep, sheep and more sheep. The wallpaper was sheep patterned, the bedding had a sheep design. Even the tiles in the bathroom hadn't escaped the ovine influence, with tiny lambs jumping fences on the tiles. Dean realised that if he had any trouble sleeping, he would fine counting sheep.

Slowly climbing up from the floor, and after waiting for the room to stop spinning, Dean rinsed his mouth out and thought about the day ahead. A long hot shower was definitely on the list (especially with no annoying little brother moaning about him using all the hot water) and then back out on the town. Sounded like a good plan.


	2. Chapter 2

The shower was hot, so lovingly hot. The small bathroom was full with smoothing steam, and the powerful stream from the shower head was helping ease the horrors of the hangover. It also helped loosen the anger that was still there from Sam running off to hug trees. Dean could have stayed there all day, but the thought of being all wrinkly when there were lots of lovely ladies requiring the Winchester touch, soon forced him to move. A small shiver ran through him as his feet made contact with the cold tiled floor. Grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist, and then realising that there was no one else needing one, he grabbed another and put it over his shoulders. There was no stress, no hunts and no need to run out to kill a fugly. Dean was now a happy bunny.

Having moved back into the bedroom, he swiftly dressed and headed out to find some breakfast, or more accurately lunch. A small dinner was just round the corner from the hotel, and with a quick glance Dean made sure it did not have a sheep theme. Surely there was an unsafe amount of sheep that a guy could look at in one day. Sliding into a booth at the back, with a full view of the door, Dean looked at the menu. After a few minutes, a waitress approached. She was a motherly figure, with greying long hair, pulled into a ponytail. Dean gave her the patent Winchester smile, and thought if she was a few years younger he would have dived into her ample cleavage. After ordering a coffee (strong and black) and a greasy burger (with everything), the waitress left, and Dean settled back, just enjoying being a no body in a big city.

The food arrived, and was swiftly consumed. A discreet belch later and Dean was ready to start enjoying all that Vegas had to offer. So naturally that was the exact moment his phone rang. Looking down at it, Dean sighed. Not that he didn't want to talk to Bobby, but he knew that Vegas week had just been cut down to Vegas night.

"Hi Bobby"

"Dean" was the gruff reply, Dean could almost see the elder hunter wiping his forehead with his old tattered cap, "sorry to bother boy, but could you and yer brother do me a big favour?"

"You kno..." Dean intended to explain (with possibly a little too much detail) why this week was sacrosanct in the Winchester calendar. He did not get the chance.

"Listen you idjit" Bobby shouted, "I've dropped everything for you two many a time! Now get yer head out of the gutter and whatever piece of skirt you're chasing and shutup!" Dean looked round; hoping that Bobbys rant hadn't been overheard. A calmer Bobby started again "there's an artefact at a dealer in Vegas, and I need it for that pansy ass Rufus. He's gone and got himself stuck with some fugly's curse and he needs it for a ritual to free himself".

Sighing, Dean ran his free hand through his hair. He knew that there was no way he could deny Bobby. Quickly thinking about the distances and driving time, he reckoned he could be at Bobbys in about 20 hours if he drove straight through. He was going to need Sam back from his happy hippy fest.

"Ok Bobby, you got me. Where's the dealer and what is it?"

"You need to go a small shop on Schriff Drive, its called 'Lauras', and she's expecting you boys. The artefact is called the 'Destroyer of Dreams'. DO NOT touch it. I know what you two are like with being major dumbasses. Get it and bring it here!"

"Kay Bobby. Lauras, on Schriff Drive and no touching...does that count for Laura if shes ho..."

"Bye Dean" and with that, Deans phone went dead.

* * *

Dean was ready to throw his phone against the wall. Ten calls, ten (increasingly inventive uses of the English language) voice mails and no contact with Sam. Well if Sam wanted to hug trees, he was going to have to find his own way back. With a smirk, Dean made the decision to get moving.

Checking out of the motel, and swearing to never look at another sheep, Dean settled into the Impala. Breathing in the familiar aroma of leather and baby, he set off to pick up the artefact and get going to Bobbys.

'Lauras' was a one of those new age shops that Dean tried most of the time to avoid. All incense sticks and tie-dyed clothes. There was the definitely whale songs being played, and no, Dean was not interested in finding out what his animal spirit was. A woman came up to Dean, long flowing skirt trailing around her and naturally blonde hair resting on the shoulders. Dean thought his day was looking up.

"Bobby sent you?"

"Yeah, Laura?"

"Thats me. And no, Bobby has warned me about you" she said with a glint in her eye. Dean, looking deflated, was going have words with Mr Singer about this. "Here's what he needs." She continued, holding a small black leather case. She carefully opened it, showing Dean the contents. Inside was small amulet on an aging piece of leather thong. It looked like a face carved into piece of dark wood. What made Dean shiver was the blood red eyes and the teeth that looked a little to real for his liking.

Just as carefully she closed the case and wrapped in a piece of cloth. "Do not touch the amulet, it's safe in its case but do not touch it. It will bring unending nightmares to any who touch it. It was used to sacrifice victims to the ancient dream god." She said rather cheerfully "Oh and tell Bobby this evens us up."

Dean took the case (rather gingerly it had to be said), "No problem, just gonna pop it in the trunk and get gone". Laura took one last look at the hunter (possibly thinking about what she could have done with that fine body) "Good luck".

* * *

Dean knew he was getting tired, maybe the hangover was having a second attack. With the amulet safely locked in the trunk and knowing he had a long drive ahead, Dean thought he would pull up at the next rest stop and have a doze. Better to arrive in one piece and a little late, than to not arrive at all.

 _The castle in the distance seemed to be getting closer, the snow capped mountains flew by underneath his view. Finally he could get a good view of the castle, it was like something Bram stoker would dream up. Gargoyles stared out from the walls and massive fortifications rose up as if challenging the mountains. Surrounding the castle was a moat, filled about half way up the sides._

 _It was the screams that then drew his attention, screams of utter terror. Together with pleadings and begs for mercy. He saw the source of these pitiful noises. People chained to the side of the moat. There must have been at least fifteen people, men and women, all looking battered and screaming. Up above them on the castle wall he saw a figure, and try as he might he could make out any features. The figure seemed to nod, and then the screaming became more intense. Looking down, he saw the moat was filling up. Filling up fast. The louder the screams became, the more he was compelled to watch as the water reached the victims heads._

 _Then, all of a sudden the screaming stopped._

Dean woke up screaming.


	3. Chapter 3

As the scream left his lips, Dean sprung up from his slumber, not realising he was still in the Impala. The crack that sounded as he hit his head on the roof was sickening, and the language that followed was positively filthy. Clutching his head, Dean tried to rationalise the nightmare.

Normally this was Sammy's gig, Dean was better at the calming said little brother down and helping him back to sleep. But with the nightmare still fresh in his head, it was hard to think of anything else. The screams as the victims drowned, the look of the castle and the mysterious figure on the castle walls. He shook his head, as if it would shake the images out of his head. Dean quickly remembered the amulet in the trunk, and tried to figure out if he had accidently touched it at any point. Regardless Dean felt a sudden urge to wash his hands.

Exiting the impala, Dean looked up to the sky and saw that it was dark with the stars shimmering in and out. He hoped that somewhere Sammy was looking and seeing the same stars. Thinking of Sam, Dean pulled out his phone and hit speed dial number 1. Again it went to voicemail, but unlike the other messages Dean had left, this one was starting to have an edge of worry in it.

Getting round to the back of the muscle car, Dean opened the trunk to double check that the amulet was still secure in its case. Having satisfied himself that it was, Dean thought maybe there was some latent affect from it, hence the nightmare. Though, he wished that Laura had warned him of it before he set off. This point was added to the list of 'Things Mr Singer Will Be Hearing About' on his arrival.

Having no idea of the time, Dean was pleased to see the rest stop he had parked up at had a 24 hour shop and a bathroom. Having used the facilities and stocked up on peanut M and M's, and coffee strong enough to power a nuclear reactor, he started up the Impala and set off down the road once again.

With the music screaming and the sun rising, the nightmare was quickly fading from Deans thoughts. To be replaced with the calm detachment he had while driving long distance without Sam to talk to. The steering wheel became a drum kit and the impala a stage for Dean's greatest hits. And so it continued for many miles.

A few hours later, in glorious sunshine, Dean was crossing through the Fishlake National Forest on the I-70. As he rounded a corner it struck him that the same car had been behind him for a while now. Maybe it was innocent, but given the patented Winchester luck, chances are of it being...not so great. Dean sped up and changed lane, but the light blue SUV seemed to copy his every move. It puzzled Dean that the SUV just seemed to be holding station behind him. Ahead of him, Dean saw an exit coming to him. Timing it to perfection, he swung off the I-70 at the last moment, leaving the SUV no chance of following him.

As he continued down this new road, Dean saw a sign for a dinner not far up ahead. Having exhausted his coffee supply a while back, he thought it would be a good place to stop for food and caffeine. To his frustration the dinner was boarded up, and by the looks of it, had been for a long while. Dean cursed whoever had left the sign out.

Pulling back on the road, he decided to get back onto the Interstate as soon as possible. The SUV would probably backtrack and be trying to find him, so he reasoned he would have a few hours head start on them, before they realised he had gone.

The sun was beginning to set, and as the light faded so did Deans last reserves of energy. He'd forgotten just how tiring it was to drive alone, with no pesky little brother to keep him entertained, and on rare occasion be trusted to drive. Spotting a truck stop in the distance, dean thought he would grab a swift nap, and then head off again. Parking the Impala, so it was shielded from view by a couple of trucks, Dean settled down for his nap...

 _The end of the screams seemed to be the signal for the moat to be emptied and dirty people in scruffy rags and bare feet quickly scurried down in the moat and started to drag the bodies away._

 _The bodies were taken into a cellar; he followed them down the damp and draughty corridors. The smell of rotting and burning flesh assaulted his senses, he then noticed a courtyard to his left with a large bonfire in the centre. He just was turning to continue following the bodies, when he saw a hand reach out of the fire..._


End file.
